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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748555">I don't know where I am (How did I get here?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanoodle/pseuds/justanoodle'>justanoodle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It just sucks it played out like this [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>:), :eyes:, :thumbs_up:, Fluff, Haha jk, Light Angst, Phil and Techno have an empire and basically run the whole antartic, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, SMP Earth - Freeform, Swearing, and completely made up stuff, and he is child, at least not as a whole, because it's told through tommy's eyes basically, but wilbur prefers Tommy, but you know, cool fortress/castle pog, fuck you. phil and techno, he is c h i l d, he's also six, i have seen literally basically none of the SMP Earth, i suck at tagging aha, i will warn you, not an accurate depiction of trauma, rabbit stew :), sbi, set in the middle of SMP Earth, so he doesn't really know about trauma and stuff, so this is based off of the limited stuff I know, still naive small child, the rest won't, the story of how they found tommy, theseus - Freeform, they call him THESEUS like NERDS, this one actually has decent Philza in it, tommy doesn't know what the fuck is going, tommy is an orphan, unless, wilbur also half lives with them cuz they're his family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:21:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanoodle/pseuds/justanoodle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuckin’ hell.” The oldest breathed, eyes wide as saucers.</p><p>The youngest’s brow furrowed and he backtracked to look at what they were seeing.</p><p>And oh.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>There was a figure there. A kid, by the looks of it. Couldn’t tell how old though. He looked small and sickly thin–– wrists no wider than the very centre hole of a disc. The boy was curled up tightly in between a few boxes and a garbage bin. (A space nobody should be able to fit between, he noted). He looked like he was composed purely of thin, sharp lines jutting out at awkward angles. Just skinny limbs and rough edges. </p><p>-Or-</p><p>How the SBI came to find Tommy.</p><p>[You don't have to read the series in order to understand! They can be read as individual stories just set in the same AU!]</p><p>[Title of fic is a lyric from the song 'camouflage' by The Front Bottoms. Title of series is a lyric from The Front Bottom's song, 'Father']</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, TommyInnit &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It just sucks it played out like this [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>400</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I don't know where I am (How did I get here?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey this is set during SMP Earth and I know jack shit about SMP Earth. (I know, I know, I should watch it. I just don't have much time). So please be aware I basically bullshitted and skirted around any SMP Earth stuff aha.</p><p>You don't have to read the series in order to understand! They can be read as individual stories just set in the same AU!</p><p>Also see the end of the fic for important notes!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Large clouds covered the sun overhead an extremely cold town, casting it into its usual darkness. The constant gloominess was near unbearable to most, but the townspeople were quite accustomed to it and they bustled about in what they considered to be ‘nice weather’.</p><p>Three cloaked and well-hidden figures made their way through the freezing market, snow crunching satisfyingly beneath their feet. They kept their heads low, hoods over their faces, and cloaks tight around their bodies so as to not be spotted. They could easily be recognized this close to the heart of the Antarctic Empire if they weren’t careful.</p><p>Passing by a small alleyway in between vendors, the youngest’s keen ears picked up the sound of young voices yelling, followed by a loud thud against something stone, a cry of pain, laughter, and then silence.</p><p>He stopped in his tracks, curious. His companions stopped too.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” The oldest asked, gaze following the direction he faced. His eyes landed on the alleyway and he squinted into its darkness.</p><p>“I heard something.” He muttered back while taking a hesitant step forward, hand automatically shifting to the axe strapped around his waist.</p><p>The youngest one slowly and silently padded into the little maze of back alleys. The place reeked of old food, garbage, mud, and something metallic. Blood, maybe? </p><p><b> <em>Blood Blood Blood Blood Blood</em> </b> <em> , </em>voices in his head chanted continuously.</p><p>He stopped and looked around, faintly hearing little footsteps skitter on the ground but registering them as rats. He began to turn back to the other two, “Must’ve been my imagination.”</p><p>However when his eyes landed on them, they looked utterly horrified.</p><p>“No, I think– I–” The middle one––who hadn’t spoken yet––was at a complete loss for words as he looked at whatever was on the ground in front of him.</p><p>“Fuckin’ hell.” The oldest breathed, eyes wide as saucers.</p><p>The youngest’s brow furrowed and he backtracked to look at what they were seeing.</p><p>And oh.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>There was a figure there. A kid, by the looks of it. Couldn’t tell how old though. He looked small and sickly thin–– wrists no wider than the very centre hole of a disc. The boy was curled up tightly in between a few boxes and a garbage bin. (A space <em> nobody </em> should be able to fit between, he noted). He looked like he was composed purely of thin, sharp lines jutting out at awkward angles. Just skinny limbs and rough edges. </p><p>His face was hidden by his arms, but they could see a matted mop of lice-ridden brown hair. Or was that mud? God, they couldn’t even tell. Small cuts covered his legs and arms, as well as bruises all over his body. There was gash on his leg that looked terribly infected. It probably hurt more than Wither poisoning and a harming potion combined. His coat and pants were absolutely torn and covered in mud and… blood, probably.</p><p>For a moment, they were worried he wasn’t even alive. It would make sense, given his condition.</p><p>“Bloody hell, is he–– is he even alive?” The oldest nudged his foot gently with his hand, noticing how much heat was radiating off the boy. Fever, for sure.</p><p>A whine of protest and a snarl of ‘Go away, dickhead’ barely escaped the boy’s lips, but otherwise, he showed no signs of life.</p><p>They would’ve chuckled at his vulgar language if this situation were any lighter.</p><p>“Hey, kid, you alright?” Dumb question, very dumb question. The kid was clearly the definition of ‘not alright’ but whatever.</p><p>Instead of a reply, he just shrunk impossibly smaller, trembling in his tiny corner.</p><p>The oldest’s face fell further and he shot worried, helpless looks at his companions. They both shrugged, unsure of what to do but not wanting to leave the poor thing here on his own.</p><p>The middle one gently leaned down, movements slow and predictable, and grasped one of the child’s arms.</p><p>Reeling back at the contact, the kid slammed against the wall with a pained cry, but otherwise didn’t look phased. He began to weakly tug away from the grip on his forearm, shouting out in protest. “Let go of me, bitch! Leave me <em> alone </em>.”</p><p>The kid was much too pathetic to even phase the middle one. “Relax, we’re only trying to help.”</p><p>“We’re not going to hurt you, mate. It’s okay.” The oldest forced a quiet laugh, hoping it was somewhat of a comforting thing to hear.</p><p>The kid scowled at him and threw some more cuss words at his face, muttering some unintelligible arguments under his breath. Due to his terrible condition, he didn’t last very long fighting. He gave up after a minute, breathing harshly and swaying in his spot. Poor thing stumbled back into his corner as though he were now suddenly scared of them. Or was it because he now realized how helpless he was if he had to fight them to get away?</p><p>It was sad, really, seeing the kid have a burst of energy for only a minute before flickering out so quickly. They could tell he had a fighting spirit––that he was a loud, energetic kid, but he’d obviously suffered in his short life. The way he flinched and reeled back from touch made them think he was abused.</p><p>The three exchanged looks, communicating one shared goal silently.</p><p>They couldn’t let him die here. Not like this. Even if they couldn’t save him, they refused to let him die alone and in agony in this freezing alleyway. The least they could do is bring him somewhere warmer and safer so he can die a smidge more comfortably with people by his side.</p><p>With great delicacy, the youngest of the three bent down and scooped up the boy, surprised (and saddened) when his only move to get out of the strong arms was a feeble <em> thump </em> to his chest. He wrapped the kid in his blood-red cloak and let the words <b> <em>Protect the child</em> </b> chant from inside his head.</p><p>They walked out of the town, a sickly child added to their little group, and travelled home.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The kid blearily blinked his eyes open, his head still feeling foggy, but far less foggy than before. The first thing he really noticed was how much less pain he was in. Sure, his leg still stung like all hell, his limbs still ached, and the bruises/cuts all over his body weren’t the most comfortable. But at least he didn’t feel like his body was tearing itself apart over and over again every second.</p><p>He was still starving though. </p><p>Well, it’s not like he expected that problem to go away any time soon. (That would be stupid. <strike>He isn’t stupid</strike>).</p><p>The second thing he noticed was the soft fabric laying on top of him like a blanket. It was his favourite shade of red and it had fluffy white bits where his face was. It looked like a <em> king’s </em> cape.</p><p>“He’s waking up!” A voice announced excitedly from close by.</p><p>The boy’s head snapped up––momentarily taking in the huge room and it’s occupants––and his eyes landed on who he presumed had spoken.</p><p>“Oh good, he’s not dead.” A deep, monotone-voiced man that was <em> not </em>the first one, said, gaze flickering up form his book. His hair was an unnatural shade of bubblegum pink, tied back in a loose ponytail. He wore a crown and clothes that looked similar to a prince or a king. Aside from how tall and strong he looked, the scariest part about him was by far the face. He had tusks jutting sharply out of his mouth, one decorated with a gold bracelet-like thing. His eyes were pure black while only the irises were white, and his face held a collection of both new and old scars.</p><p>“Ignore him.” The previous voice said, drawing the boy’s attention away. “He’s actually quite happy to know you’re alive, aren’t you, Techno?” He nudged <em> Techno’s </em>shoulder.</p><p>There was a hum of acknowledgement but nothing else.</p><p>“I’m Wilbur! Or just ‘Wil’ is fine, too.” He cheerily announced, a dopey grin on his face. He wore a burgundy beanie and a soft yellow turtleneck that looked hand-knit, judging by the odd patches and loose threads. He was tall, lanky, and probably a teenager. “This is my twin brother––”</p><p>“We’re not brothers.” Techno butted in, no emotion to his voice yet again. </p><p>The kid flinched. He hated the man’s voice. He couldn’t tell what mood he was in and he sounded already incredibly bored with his presence. <em> I just got here, surely I didn’t do something wrong yet. Right? They’re probably going to just kick me out once they’re done with me so there’s no need to worry. What do they even want with me, anyways? </em></p><p>“This is my twin brother, Technoblade.” Wilbur repeats, just as happily as before.</p><p>The kid snorts. “You don’t look like twins.”</p><p>Wil’s grin widens. “Piglins have weird growth spurts. He looks like an adult but he’s really not.”</p><p>“You could’ve <em> not </em>told him that.” Techno rolls his eyes and complains.</p><p>“And that,” The brunette nudges a sleeping blond man in an armchair, “is my dad, Philza. Or just ‘Phil’.” He nudges the man harder. “Wake up. The kid’s alive.”</p><p>“Mm?” Phil jolts awake, confused. “Wha–”</p><p>“He’s alive.” Techno mutters, cold stare meeting the boy’s bright blue eyes. (The kid refused to flinch under that look which he knew all too well).</p><p>Phil got a burst of energy at those words and he stood up to approach the child. “Oh! How’re you feeling, mate? You were pretty fucked up when we found you.”</p><p>The kid, quite frankly, doesn’t remember ever being found by these three. Or how he got here. He juts his chin out stubbornly and crosses his aching arms, ignoring how they cry in protest. “I’m fine, bitch.”</p><p>“Got a mouth on you.” Phil chuckles, weary eyes squinting with his amusement.</p><p>“Not much better, yourself.” He bites back, hoping the man would just leave him be. He’s tired of being hurt by people who seem kind.</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“Don’t have one.” He shrugs and admits nonchalantly, like he’s commenting on the weather.</p><p>There’s a flicker of something in Techno’s eyes. Disappointment? Anger? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.</p><p>“You.. don’t have a name?” Wilbur asks, face falling.</p><p>“What’s the problem, bitch boy? People call me different things, is all.” The kid scowls, jaw set in annoyance.</p><p>“But you don’t have a birth name? What did your parents call you?”</p><p>“No parents either.” He huffs. What part don’t they understand? He’s a nameless, faceless orphan on the streets. He doesn’t matter to anyone enough to have a name. Why are they so hung up over this? “Something that starts with a ‘T’.”</p><p>“Tommy.” Wilbur says.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“‘Something that starts with a ‘T’’.” The teen quotes as he brushes hair out of his face. “Tommy. You look like a Tommy we know. Same blond hair and blue eyes.”</p><p>“No.” Techno says quickly and firmly, but with a hint of exasperation. He closes his book and gives his brother(?) a disgruntled look.</p><p>Wilbur fucking giggles, like there’s a joke going one here. One the kid doesn’t understand. Phil is laughing too, now. The fuck is going on? “C’mon, Techno. He looks just like him!”</p><p>“We are <em> not </em> naming him Tommy. Not after the Business Bay kid.” The man–– <em> teenager, he’s a teenager </em>––states.</p><p>“What would you rather name him?” Phil asks between wheezes.</p><p>“Theseus.” Techno replies without missing a beat.</p><p>Wilbur goes quiet for a second and the air is heavy. Tommy almost instinctively curls up tighter, but then suddenly Wilbur is dissolving into giggles and wheezes while Techno is spewing some argument of sorts. Something about a tragedy? It’s hard to catch what’s happening because the atmosphere of this place is so deceptively nice to the little six year-old kid.</p><p>Techno whirls around to face Phil because apparently he’s standing now. “What do you think?”</p><p>Phil’s mouth snaps shut and he looks between the two teenagers. “Uh…” He squints and stammers, eyes sympathetic as he looks at Wilbur. “I like Theseus. It has a nice ring to it. Sorry, Wil. You know how much trouble Tommy causes Techno sometimes.”</p><p>Wilbur lets out a jumbled protest, his mouth rapid-firing a few arguments before he just sags and gives up. “At least let the kid decide.”</p><p>They all turn towards him and he doesn’t really know what to do. He just sits in silence, huge eyes watching the three people in front of him.</p><p>“So, what’ll it be? Theseus or Tommy?” Phil had an expectant look in his eyes and Tommy didn’t like it one bit.</p><p>How was he supposed to choose? The votes for ‘Theseus’ outweighed the votes for ‘Tommy’ but on the other hand, he didn’t want to disappoint Techno or Phil if he chose ‘Tommy’. Both were fine names. He didn’t really care which he got. Actually, what was more important is why <em> they </em> cared. Why are they bothering with figuring out a name for him if he’s just gonna be on the streets again in a matter of days? </p><p>“Uh– Mm.” He swallows, then clenches his jaw. He feels angry at them for caring. “Why the fucks does it matter? What do you care what my name is?”</p><p>“Because everyone deserves a name?” Wilbur’s head cocks to the side and his words come out as an irrefutable question rather than a statement.</p><p>The kid brings the cape on his lap closer around him, feeling uncomfortable under all their stares. He tries not to linger on the thought that he’s still covered in mud and blood and ruining the soft fabrics around him. “Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter anyways. It’s just a stupid name.”</p><p>“Theseus it is.” Techno’s lips form a smug grin.</p><p>Wilbur sighs in defeat and he looks at the newly named kid. At <em> Theseus </em>. “Nice to meet you, Theseus.”</p><p>Though he is smiling and his face is crinkled into one of joy, Theseus still can’t help but notice that he looks a bit uncomfortable. He’s not as stupid as people think. He may be six, but he’s not an idiot.</p><p>“You can call me Tommy or whatever.” Theseus grunts out.</p><p>Wilbur’s face lights up and that look of vague displeasure is gone. He laughs. “So now your name’s Tommy, innit?” The brunette turns to the other two and––with his index finger pointed at them––proudly states, “Suck it.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Theseus, or Tommy, or whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is, finds it weird that they don’t throw him out onto the streets in a matter of days. It only makes him more nervous though, because he knows that at any minute, he’ll do something wrong and they’ll get rid of him. He’s constantly on edge, looking over his shoulder and trying to be conscious of his every move.</p><p>They’re nice to him. He hates nice people. They’re always nice and then they’ll hurt him and then things will be even less okay. Whatever. <strike>It’s fine</strike>.</p><p>They’re also really rich, which is another strange thing. He’s never stayed with a rich family before. They have servants, cooks, maids, and even <em> guards </em>. All the walls of the place are lined with gold, the floors are marble, there are really fancy paintings everywhere, and every piece of furniture looks like it’s worth more than any of the homes he’s ever been in. Even the utensils are fancy and shit.</p><p>He’s not allowed to go to two ends of this big castle (he doesn’t know for sure it’s a castle. It’s not like he’s ever been in one. But it sure feels and looks like one). They say there are unstable parts of it where you could fall to your death. He wants to know what’s over there, but his desire to not get hit overpowers his curiosity.</p><p>He finally took a bath after three months of being on the streets, mostly because Wilbur forced him to. It felt really nice and he ignored how many times they had to drain and refill the tub because of all the grime caked on him. When his head was scrubbed and the dirt came off, he realized he’d forgotten that his hair was actually blond and not light brown, like it’s been for a long time.</p><p>Wilbur was even kind enough to treat his wounds and give him healing potions for his leg. He could actually walk semi-normally now, but he needed a crutch sometimes.</p><p>It’s been almost a week in this weird fancy place and Theseus still doesn’t know anything about these people. All he knows is they’re rich, Wilbur and Techno are fourteen, Phil is thirty-two, and they’re important people. Wilbur says he can’t tell him what they do because it’s dangerous or some shit.</p><p> </p><p>Right now, he’s underneath one of the weird dresser-cabinet things in a hallway. It’s quiet down here and the only noise around is the dripping water of some of the weird ice walls. (Why the fuck are some walls made of ice? That’s so stupid).</p><p>The sound of footsteps make him shuffle further under the piece of furniture and he instinctively holds his breath.</p><p>“Tommy!” Wilbur calls out softly as he nears.</p><p>Theseus honestly doesn’t care what they call him. ‘Tommy’ is nice and it’s easier for him to pronounce (and part of him likes the way Wilbur’s eyes light up when he responds to it). However, Theseus sounds like the name of some kind of hero in a mythology book one of his host sisters used to read. It’s pretty cool.</p><p>“Tommy, where are you? It’s dinner time. The cooks made rabbit stew.”</p><p>Theseus doesn’t respond. <strike>He doesn’t care if Wilbur is angry when he doesn’t</strike>. He’d much rather stick down here where it’s safe than have to walk around amongst servants and big desolate halls and paintings that always are looking at him. This place is uncomfortably big. And it’s so very quiet.</p><p>“Tommy? I know you’re around somewhere. C’mon, there’s some hot stew waiting for us. I think Techno and Phil are coming back tonight, too.” Wil continues, pausing a few feet away where the hall branches off.</p><p>Theseus stays put. He likes Wil. But Wil is bound to hurt him.</p><p>The sound of gentle singing catches his attention. It’s an old song he can never remember the name of, but it brings him memories of the only good person in his orphanage. A teenager––one who sadly remains faceless––who used to sing to all the kids to help them fall asleep.</p><p>“<em> When Johnny Jones was serenading Mary… </em> ” The teenager starts. It’s mumbly and hard to make out, like he’s singing subconsciously instead of for somebody. “ <em> ...He sure could quote a lot of poetry. </em>”</p><p>Theseus held his tongue. He’s tempted to sing along, but doesn’t dare to give away where he is. The rules of ‘be quiet, be good, don’t disturb anyone’ were loud in his head.</p><p>Apparently not loud enough.</p><p>“<em> –they both attended PS––” </em> Wilbur froze when he heard a small voice sing back, <em> ‘PS 33’ </em>.</p><p>Theseus was horrified at himself and he tried to shuffle even further under the piece of furniture, but ended up bumping harshly against the wall. He let out a pained grunt and quickly covered his mouth with his hands.</p><p>Wilbur’s footsteps circled back around and Theseus watched as he lowered himself to the ground. He peered underneath the dresser thing and his eyes met the little blond’s bright blue ones.</p><p>“Hi!” The teenager chirped brightly, like this wasn’t an unusual situation in the slightest. “What’re you doing down there?”</p><p>“None of your business.” Theseus snapped and let his hand fall from his mouth.</p><p>Wilbur’s smile never faltered. Theseus did not like that. He was being too friendly. “Good thing you didn’t get much farther than this. You’re not allowed to go to the North and East wings because it’s dangerous, remember?”</p><p>The blond stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The tender tone Wilbur was using was getting on his nerves. “Yeah, yeah.”</p><p>“Come on, time for dinner. We need to get some food in you. You’re all skin and bones.”</p><p>“Bitch.” Theseus mumbled, but complied in fear of getting <strike>even more?</strike> in trouble. The kid shuffled out and stood up, refusing to look into Wilbur’s too-kind eyes.</p><p>As he followed the older down the long, winding halls, and sat at the table listening to Wilbur encourage him to eat his soup, the six year-old thought a lot about why Wilbur cared so much about him. Why any of them cared so much. He was a loud, brash, talkative, annoying little kid that could never follow rules for long or focus on any tasks he was given.</p><p>He didn’t want to have to wait for the inevitable fall. What if… what if he just ran away? He could find a way out of this place, right? Just wait until Wilbur is asleep, slip past a few guards, and it should be fine. Right?</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Five months later, he’s still in that castle. Why? He doesn’t know. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to think about it. But he somehow finally has nice older brothers and a father didn’t yell at or hit him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you guys want to suggest scenes and stuff you want me to write, go ahead!! I'm down. Whether it's headcanons you have that could go in the story, fluff, angst, whatever, I'm down! Just keep it relevant/appropriate and whatnot. You can leave suggestions in the comments here or contact me through DMs on tumblr @recycledcactus (which is preferred, but don't worry if you can't!)</p><p>As always, this fic was inspired by @strawberiitea and @clairedreems on tumblr, as well as supported by @phantom-clock and @emo-and-confused also on tumblr, so please go check them out! They're really awesome and this wouldn't be possible without their hc's/support :D</p><p>Hope you guys enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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